<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Sotto Voce by Ignisentis</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26688880">Sotto Voce</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ignisentis/pseuds/Ignisentis'>Ignisentis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Idiots in Love, Intentionally Anachronistic Song Subjects, M/M, There will be songs, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, soft and sweet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:09:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26688880</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ignisentis/pseuds/Ignisentis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He hums as he walks. The fucking asshole invader who can’t die and won’t leave Yusuf alone, hums as he trails along behind, an unlooked for and unwanted shadow. Except shadows are quiet. This one won’t. Shut. Up. </p>
<p>Sometimes asshole invader Nicolò sings snippets of songs, soft little things, in some language that Yusuf can’t make out but sounds round to his ears somehow, if a language can be round. The syllables roll off Nicolò’s tongue like blood off the tip of a knife Yusuf imagines burying in his throat, just to get him to stop. </p>
<p>Because he’s good, is the thing. His voice is rich and soft, and he gets this look on his face when he sings, this wistful smile that twists his mouth just so, and it makes Yusuf’s belly clench. It makes him think of his mother and his sisters, of stealing sweets from the kitchen, laughing as they run away to eat them under the hot sun, all smiles and sticky fingers. It makes him think of stolen kisses and the sharpness of good cinnamon and how he can never go home again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>444</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sotto Voce</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperstorm/gifts">paperstorm</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>You can blame this fic on two things:</p>
<p>1: Luca Marinelli's lovely singing voice</p>
<p>2: and the most lovely of enablers, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperstorm">Paperstorm</a> who knew I was having a hard time writing lately, and was feeling a little down about it and about *gestures broadly* THINGS, so she started talking about an idea that was SO SOFT and SO IN MY WRITING WHEELHOUSE that I HAD to write it. A++ friending, great job, my dear!</p>
<p>Lastly, Strega Nona is one of my favorite books from when I was a child. I've read it to my own kids dozens of times. It's a wonderful story, and the illustrations are incredible, so I wanted to include it. I know pasta wasn't introduced to Italy for a couple of hundred years after this story takes place, but let's all just roll with it, shall we? We shall.</p>
<p>Not beta'd as my beta is my previously mentioned enabler, and this is a present for her. All mistakes are therefore my own.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He hums as he walks. The fucking asshole invader who can’t die and won’t leave Yusuf alone, hums as he trails along behind, an unlooked for and unwanted shadow. Except shadows are quiet. This one won’t. Shut. Up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes asshole invader Nicolò sings snippets of songs, soft little things, in some language that Yusuf can’t make out but sounds round to his ears somehow, if a language can be round. The syllables roll off Nicolò’s tongue like blood off the tip of a knife Yusuf imagines burying in his throat, just to get him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because he’s good, is the thing. His voice is rich and soft, and he gets this look on his face when he sings, this wistful smile that twists his mouth just so, and it makes Yusuf’s belly clench. It makes him think of his mother and his sisters, of stealing sweets from the kitchen, laughing as they run away to eat them under the hot sun, all smiles and sticky fingers. It makes him think of stolen kisses and the sharpness of good cinnamon and how he can never go home again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yusuf doesn’t know the words, and the melodies are new and strange, but late at night, when the moon is high in the sky and the fire is low, he finds they stick in his head, like a grain of sand between his toes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re on the road south, always south these days, when he catches Nicolò smiling at him, the first full smile he’s ever seen on the other man’s face. The lower left side of his mouth tugs as he smiles, a beautiful, lopsided thing that transforms his whole face and is much preferable to the scowl Yusuf can feel on his own face, an unconscious reaction to assure he’s as contrary as possible toward the other man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicolò just huffs out a breath as his smile widens impossibly further. “Don’t make that face at me,” he chirps in halting Greek, the only language they currently share. “You were the one humming along.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yusuf stumbles before looking back to glare at Nicolò. “I was not,” he counters, because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicolò shrugs his shoulders but doesn’t stop smiling as he walks past. “Suit yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This one is about a woman whose husband hadn’t returned from a war, so she went to look for him,” Nicolò says later that night as they’re cooking a rabbit on a spit, not that Yusuf cares. Because he absolutely does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This one is a song for sailors about the dangers of the sea,” Nicolò says a few days later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We sing this in the summer when the nights are hottest,” he says a few days after that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This was my favorite song as a child. It’s about an old woman who has a magic cauldron that cooks unlimited pasta when she speaks a magic word.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yusuf snorts and shakes his head. “Now you’re fucking with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicolò gasps and raises his hand to his chest in mock affront. “I would never! Her name is Strega Nona, and when she goes to visit a friend in a neighboring town, her assistant, a foolish boy named Antonio, speaks the magic word but doesn’t know the one to make the cauldron stop, so the town is overrun with pasta.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, that does sound like something your people would do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just so. Now stop chattering and listen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s jaunty, the song Nicolò’s belting out as they walk along the dusty trail. Makes you want to stand up straighter and walk a little faster, maybe sway your hips some. Nicolò is singing it loudly, his arms gesticulating wildly, long fingers fluttering. Yusuf feels a laugh bubble up from his chest, so he lets it out, affected by Nicolò’s bright mood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicolò beams at him with his beautiful lopsided smile and carries on, louder and wilder than before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the end of the song, Yusuf’s belly hurts from laughter. The pain fades quickly as pain does these days, and he finds himself wishing he could hold onto it just a little longer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yusuf can feel Nicolò’s eyes on him as he finishes Dhuhr, a more and more common occurrence as of late. He looks over as he completes his prayers, smiling as Nicolò’s gaze skitters away, desperately trying to find something to land on so he can pretend he wasn’t staring at Yusuf. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yusuf unfolds his limbs and makes his way next to Nicolò, who still, adorably, won’t look Yusuf in the eyes. He slumps down, bumping Nicolò’s shoulder with his own once he’s settled in next to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sing me something silly, won’t you? I’m in the mood for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicolò looks over at him, eyebrows raised in surprise before frowning slightly as he thinks. “I have just the thing,” he says, snapping his fingers. “But it’s best when sung with another person.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah,” Yusuf laments, “you may want to choose something else, in that case. Singing is not one of my talents.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nonsense, I’m sure that’s not true. Now, listen closely and I’ll teach you the lyrics.”</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Santa Maria, madre di Dio</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Nicolò says, breathless with laughter. “Singing definitely is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> one of your talents.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you!” Yusuf giggles as he wipes tears from his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are my ears bleeding? I feel like my ears are bleeding.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, not yet, but let me try a few more verses and see if I can fix that for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!!” Nicolò shouts, laughing as he tackles Yusuf to the ground. Yusuf smiles and lets him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s mournful, Nicolò’s song tonight, melancholy. There’s an ache deep in Yusuf’s chest by the time the last note fades away in the cool night air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What was that one about?” Yusuf asks, almost afraid of the answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicolò looks up at him, firelight glittering in his eyes, the corner of his mouth turned up sadly. The fingers of his right hand twitch before he curls them into a loose fist. “It’s about a man who falls in love with someone he can’t have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yusuf inhales sharply, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he stares back at Nicolò. “Why can’t he?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicolò sighs and closes his eyes, shaking his head a little. “Because his beloved doesn’t love him back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Yusuf replies, watching as Nicolò’s shoulders fall and his head drops to his chest. “No,” he continues, “I don’t think that’s what the song was about at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicolò’s head pops up, his eyes widening as Yusuf sits down in front of him on the dusty ground. “Sing it again, Nicolò.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicolò swallows heavily before starting the song again, his voice soft and deeper than usual. He never once breaks eye contact. Yusuf shivers as he watches Nicolò’s beautiful mouth form words that wrap themselves around his bones. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There,” he interrupts more than halfway through the song, rising to his knees and crawling closer to Nicolò. “That’s the third time you’ve sung about the sun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicolò opens and closes his mouth as if to speak, eyes widening as Yusuf inches closer. He looks down at Yusuf’s lips, darting his gaze upward again when he realizes what he’s doing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it?” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yusuf hums in reply. “You’ve also sung of dark eyes and darker hair, about skin that shines in the light like burnished bronze.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yusuf…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What I want to know, Nicolò, is why you think you can’t have me when I’m already yours?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicolò grunts, the sound punched out of him, before surging forward to press his lips against Yusuf’s. Yusuf grunts and brings his hands up to Nicolò’s face, turning his head gently to get a better angle. Nicolò gasps, and Yusuf darts his tongue into his mouth, pulling a deep, throaty moan out of Nicolò.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They kiss and kiss, and when Nicolò pulls away to say his name, voice filled with wonder, Yusuf shivers and tugs Nicolò back in for yet another kiss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” Nicolò whispers against Yusuf’s lips, “please,” and Yusuf is helpless against the desire in his voice. He wraps his arms around Nicolò and pulls him into his lap, groaning when he’s seated and Yusuf can feel just how much Nicolò wants him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nicolò,” he pants, overcome with desire for the man in his arms. “What do you —”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything, Yusuf. Everything. All that I am is yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yusuf reaches up, tangling one hand in Nicolò’s hair at the nape of his neck and the other around his waist before twisting him down to the ground. He lays his body on Nicolò’s, knowing he can take his weight, rolling his hips slowly as he leans down to kiss the moan off Nicolò’s lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Later, Yusuf is tucked up against Nicolò, boneless and sticky and sated, his face buried in Nicolò’s neck, his arm wrapped around his waist. Nicolò is stroking his fingertips up and down Yusuf’s upper arm, so gently it brings goosebumps to his skin. Nicolò starts singing, something soft and slow. Yusuf smiles and noses at Nicolò’s throat as he sings, letting the vibrations roll through his body like molten gold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s this song about?” Yusuf asks the next day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicolò smiles and pauses his singing. “It’s about love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about this one?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me guess: this one is about love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm, my beloved is so clever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicolò sings different songs about love for weeks before switching to one song in particular he sings again and again and again. He refuses to tell Yusuf what it means, the cheeky bastard, no matter how much Yusuf asks and begs and teases. He only says that it’s his favorite, and asks Yusuf every night over their campfire if he’s figured out what it means yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know I haven’t,” Yusuf pouts. “But sing it again for me, won’t you? Maybe this time I’ll understand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicolò always beams at him, a light blush dusting his cheeks, and starts singing it once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me, beloved,” Yusuf hears Nicolò say once the last note of the mystery song has faded away on the breeze. He’s gazing down at Yusuf, whose head is cradled in his lap as Nicolò gently cards his fingers through his curls, a private smile on his lips. “Have you figured it out yet? What the song is about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yusuf smiles back and closes his eyes, letting his love for this man course through his veins. “Us, my heart. It’s about </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>